


Playground

by ourladyoftoros



Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Teenagers, LGBTQ Character, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Past Character Death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-08
Updated: 2017-01-11
Packaged: 2018-03-11 05:22:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 13,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3315716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ourladyoftoros/pseuds/ourladyoftoros
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two lonely kids who don't really like people and who don't really know what they're doing accidentally meet in an abandoned playground.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. ONE

My grandma was a very talkative woman. Her voice stood out among her elderly friends, and I could easily hear her gossiping with them downstairs from my bedroom. The topic they were discussing at the time was, I guessed, how irritating cold-callers were. Each old woman had a different system for dealing with them, apparently.

I was lying alone on my bed, with nothing else to do but listen to their conversation. My body was on top of the duvet and I was staring at my white ceiling, not moving as my arms slowly became numb due to being underneath my head. I was bored but I liked the tranquility of it. I enjoyed being alone and in silence, which was not what the average eighteen-year-old boy's favourite hobby was. I should have been out in the town getting drunk or high in a group of loud and menacing teenagers, but instead I was at home with no friends or rebellious habits to speak of.

Minutes passed and after a while I found myself restless. Rolling off of my bed, I stretched out my limbs and yawned, despite it being late afternoon. I could still hear my grandma chatting away downstairs and I let out a small chuckle at one of her comments while I pulled on a pair of converse and picked up a thick black sweater from the end of my bed. It was nearing the end of August, but it was a dull day in New Jersey so I dressed myself in warmer clothing than I had been wearing previously. A walk would be fun and something that I could do alone.

Skimming my fingers lightly across the banister as I descended the stairs, I hummed a quiet lullaby to myself. The wall beside the stairs were adorned with photos of our family; my parents' wedding, my mother holding me as a baby, 4-year-old me standing in front of the Statue of Liberty holding my father's hand, my grandma and I having a picnic in a park a month after I first moved in with her. Every photo has a memory, and all of these were happy. Nobody hangs pictures depicting sickness, or death, or separation. Human beings prefer to be reminded of the happy moments in life, understandably. My grandma hadn't framed polaroids of my mother dying of cancer in hospital a year after my parents and I took that trip to New York. She hadn't captured the distress I felt when I had to move to Spain with my father and his new wife when I was ten. She had pictures of the holidays, the matrimony, the settling down. She was a typical human being.

"I'm going to go for a walk." I said quietly to the aging lady sitting among her friends in the living room. My grandma stopped her conversation and smiled at me.

"Alright, Frank, stay safe." She beamed and I left the house swiftly, shutting the front door behind me as softly as I could so as not to startle our cat. The cat was like me in that it didn't like loud noises. Or too many people.

My grandma did not like my name. She said it was boring and a silly name for a teenager in this day and age, but I had always liked it. Frank was simple and nice-sounding and there was no way anybody could possibly spell it or say it incorrectly, which removed any possibility for awkward corrections.

My head was kept securely down while I walked to avoid meeting eyes with strangers. Eye contact - along with basically every aspect of socialising - scared me to death and just thinking about it made me anxious. The streets were virtually empty as I tread along them; the only sounds being the light wind blowing past me and somebody's loud laughter in a house to my left. The lack of noise and people was calming, and for once my breathing while outside was slow and steady.

I didn't have any particular destination in my head; I was just walking aimlessly with my gaze fixed on my shoes without fault.

"Sorry," I mumbled to somebody I brushed past accidentally. They grunted in reply and I looked up once I knew that they would be gone from my eyeline. In front of me was no longer a neat row of houses like the block lived on, but rather a boarded-up group of shops and several dirty alleyways. It was safe to say that I had gotten myself lost.

Skirting around filthy bins, I passed through one of the alleyways in an attempt to get somewhere familiar. I could have just turned around and gone back the way I had come, but obviously my brain decided to be an idiot at that moment in time and tell me to go through.a fucking alleyway. Once out of the alleyway, I came face to face with a rusty fence and a broken gate swinging off of its hinges. Behind the fence was the most beautifully depressing thing I had ever seen.

A children's playground had been forgotten about a long, long time ago. A cracked slide, a moss-covered merry-go-round that probably squeaked like hell when moved, two extremely dirty but mainly intact swings and a third oddly warped one, and a few of those broken springy horse things. Benches lined the outside of the park, presumably for parents to wait for their kids to get tired and start whining.

All of the - eight, I counted - benches were empty except one. I yelped when I saw the occupant, as the last thing I expected to see at the playground was another human.

He didn't hear my cry. I was grateful for that because fuck no did I want him to see me loitering and confront me. Looking closer without moving too much, I saw he had earphones in and was staring at the object in his lap. A sketchbook, I noted.

The boy seemed to be about my age, with black clothes like me and thick black hair to match. His bangs fell over his face as he drew, so I couldn't see exactly what he looked like.

I wanted to watch him sketch forever. There was something very elegant about the way his wrist moved fluidly across the paper and the way his fingers gripped his pencil. It was almost art in itself.

Obviously staring at him had not been a clever idea, as after a few minutes of me watching him, his head snapped up and his eyes locked onto mine.

I bolted.


	2. TWO

"That was a quick walk," my grandma said, a smile on her face as she chopped carrots. I shrugged in reply and took my shoes off, walking over to where she was standing in the kitchen and returning her smile.

"Can I help?" I asked. She nodded and set me to work on some potatoes at the sink. It was mundane as hell but to be honest it was quite calming.

The embarrassment from my accidental encounter with the kid at the park was still contaminating my senses, even after almost half an hour. My hands shook a little and my stomach churned, but I hid my discomfort as best I could. There wasn't any point fretting about it, I told myself.

Ha! Like I could do anything but fret about past events.

"Nice walk, love?" My grandma beamed at me over the tune tinnily drifting from the small radio. She was a very smiley woman, my grandmother.

"Yeah, it was a nice afternoon," I said vaguely, distractedly missing a potato by millimeters and catching my finger with the peeler instead.

My grandma nodded and turned the volume on the radio up a few notches, beginning to sing along softly and gently sway her hips as she cooked.

I grinned even though she wasn't facing me.

-

"Your dad called earlier." She told me, a sympathetic expression on her face as she watched me eat.

I speared a potato with my fork without looking at her. "Okay."

My grandma bit her lip, ambivalent about the whole situation with my father. He barely ever contacted and she knew that I resented him a little, but she really valued family. Still sent him Christmas cards and the like.

"He, uh, invited us over for a weekend." She said slowly, trying to guage my reaction. "With Marisol and the kids."

I scoffed and she chuckled. "I thought so." She said, smiling at me and patting ny hand with hers. "You finished there, love?"

Nodding, I let her take the empty plate from in front of me and stood up. She never let me do the dishes. Said she was the grandma and it was her who was taking care of me, not the other way around. Sure, she'd let me prepare vegetables or make tea or water plants, but nothing else.

"Thank you for dinner," I told her and she gave me a one-armed side-hug with soapy hands.

"You're welcome, Frank." She looked at me and frowned for a moment. "Your hair is getting very long."

I tucked a piece of my shoulder-length hair behind my ear self-conciously. "It's getting colder; I need something to keep my ears warm." I joked, making my grandma laugh heartily and gently slap my shoulder.

-

I jolted awake at just after 4am, breathing hard and sweating. Another nightmare had tarnished my dreams.

Gulping water from the glass on my bedside table, I peeled off my damp t-shirt with shaking hands. The dream had been vivid, but no different from any of my usual nightmares. Just seeing my mom die again and again in front of me, the scene an exaggerated copy of a memory.

Replacing the t-shirt with a drier one, I padded down the stairs and into the kitchen, taking my phone with me to play a calming game of Temple Run.

I parked myself on one of the kitchen counters and unlocked my phone, finding a text that wasn't from my grandma. Those were very, very rare.

I had had one friend in high school. Bob. But he had gone to college on the other side of the country almost a year ago. He didn't contact much, he wasn't that kind of person. I didn't really mind.

Yawning briefly, I opened Bob's message.

kyley ur so hot I csnt eben deak i wanr to fick you againdt a wakl

It wasn't anything other than a wrongly addressed drunk text. Great.

-

He won't be there, I told myself, putting one foot in front of the other and trying to remember the way to that abandoned playground. The guy I saw the first time had probably only been there as a one time thing. It wasn't exactly the nicest of places, even if it was quiet.

I turned down two wrong alleyways before I found the route I took accidentally the other day. But when I did find the playground, I found it to be blissfully empty of life.

It was beautiful. The washed-out colours of the metal toys and the rust adorning their frames. The leaves blanketing the tarmac and the muted hues of dying flowers in the ground. An atmosphere of something surrounded the place, not quite dead but still not alive. The air was almost poetic.

A graveyard for childhood.

I picked a bench at random and sat down, crossing my legs - with slight difficulty due to my jeans - and taking a book from out of my satchel. The novel was one I'd read at least five times throughout the course of my life; The Virgin Suicides. Flicking to the page I'd last finished reading, I settled into the words and the silence.

I was getting tired and considering going home when I heard the yelp.

"Wh-what are you doing h-here?"

My head snapped up and I stared at the owner of the voice, jaw slack. It was the boy who had been here the other day, sketchbook in hand and biting his lip as he looked me up and down. It made me very uncomfortable but he looked just as nervous as I felt, which funnily enough made me feel a little better.

"My, uh, grandma had people over again and I, um, wanted to be alone," I said hesitantly. Why was I telling this stranger this? He nodded slowly after breaking eye contact with me. I was grateful for that. I don't know why I find looking into people's eyes stressful and difficult, I just do. Glances are fine, but any longer I just can't do.

"H-how," the stranger started, voice wavering and high-pitched. He cleared his throat. "How did you find this place?"

"By accident," I said, holding my left hand with my right and driving my thumb against my palm again and again, my eyes trained on my movements. Nervous habit.

I looked at the boy in time to see him nod again. "Who are you?" He squinted at me briefly and I looked down again.

"I'm Frank," I answered quietly. "Who are you?"

The boy sighed. "I'm Gerard. I come here to, uh, draw." My gaze flicked back down to the sketchbook in his hand. It was a sizeable thing, with worn edges and a cup ring on the cover. A sudden, overwhelming urge to look at his work rushed through me but I swallowed the question down. That was personal.

I held up my book for him to see. "I come here for peace and quiet."

"Me too." Gerard turned away from me and sat down on a different bench, not saying another word. I watched him pull his knees up to his chest with his converse on the wood and lean his sketchbook against his thighs. He then began to draw and I returned to reading. We didn't speak again.


	3. THREE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is kind of short, sorry!

I bit my lip, anxious even thinking about the needle that was going to be going through it. I wasn't majorly nervous about talking to whoever was assigned to pierce it, since my grandma had agreed to do all of that for me. What I was wary of was something going wrong. The place that she was taking me to was safe, legal and well spoken of, but there is always room for mistakes.

"Do you still want it, love?" My grandma smiled at me, extending a hand automatically to tuck a strand of my hair behind my ear. "Do you want some water from the cooler?"

I nodded to answer both questions, fiddling with my fingers a little. My grandma stood up from beside me on the smooth leather seat of the parlour's waiting room and walked over to the gently humming water cooler, bringing back water in a plastic cup. I thanked her.

"Frank Iero?" A man said, appearing in front of us from nowhere and mispronouncing my surname. One couldn't really blame him, with a name like Iero. My grandma and I stood and I took a last sip of my drink before binning it, hands trembling slightly.

I wasn't scared of needles. I wasn't scared of them at all. But my hands were still shaking and my chest was still a little tighter than was pleasant.

It was over quickly and smoothly, with not as much pain as I had expected. It hurt, yes, but my natural negativity had exaggerated my expectation.

The whole event had been quite the anti-climax.

"Can you drop me off here?" I asked my grandma, turning the car radio down so she would hear me. She gave me a funny look and stopped the car once she had found a suitable spot.

"Frank, we may be in a nicer part of New Jersey, but I'm not sure I like you going on all of these walks."

"I'll stay safe, I found this really nice park and nothing ever happens there." It wasn't really a lie. "I just want to practice my guitar and we both know how much you dislike it." I said.

My grandma chuckled. "I dislike the volume, not the instrument. Do you want to go home and get it?"

"It's in the trunk." My grandma looked at me incredulously before telling me numerous times to stay safe and then letting me exit her car.

I hummed one of the songs that had been playing during the drive as I walked, smiling to myself. As odd as it may sound, I was very much enjoying the weight of my guitar case on my back. It was almost like a dog; a heavy and slightly warm presence that wasn't human resting on a part of one's body.

The playground was once again empty, and I sat myself on the same bench that I had read on the last time I was there. My guitar was in my lap before I could really think much about it and a pick was between my fingers even quicker.

"You play guitar?" A small voice asked after a while of just me playing. I jumped, letting out an embarrassing yelp. Gerard was much better with eye contact than I was, and I felt his stare on me long after I looked away again.

I nodded. "Yeah." I laughed breezily and briefly met Gerard's wide eyes. "Not well, I may add."

Gerard shrugged and walked over to the bench adjacent to mine, sitting himself down with his knees up again. "I liked it." He said offhandedly. "So how are you today, Frank?"

I was thrown a bit by his question, and began my answer with an intelligent 'um'. I watched him watch me out of the corner of my eye. "Alright, yourself?"

"I'm the same as I always am." Gerard answered, running his hand through his dark hair and smoothing his bangs. "You got a lip piercing. Did it hurt?"

I shrugged. "Not as much as I thought it would."

"Okay. I'm going to draw now, is that okay?"

I nodded.


	4. FOUR

Somebody knocked on the door, their taps short and rhythmic. It was so quiet I almost didn't hear it from my place on the staircase. I was tuning my guitar, as it was the best place in the whole house to do so without various miscellaneous noises interfering with the small black tuner on my knee. My grandma wasn't home and answering the soft stranger's knocks was my job, so I leant the guitar against the hall wall and stood.

I was expecting a neighbour, or one of my grandma's friends, not the slightly greasy black hair of Gerard. He held out a wad of leather to me immediately, pale face smiling distantly. It was my goddamn wallet and I took it with my mouth agape.

"What the hell?" I finally managed to get out. Gerard just kept smiling, eyes glassy and barely focused. I repeated my question and he opened his lips in a mindless grin.

"I'm a little wasted and I know your grandmother, Frankie." He explained, words dragged out and eyes slightly shut. "Y'know what I did when I woke up today, Frankie? I downed like four beers! That's not much, is it? And then I drew my grandma, my beautiful, beautiful grandma. You'd like her, Frankie, her name's Elena. Elena Lee Rush. D'you know her, Frankie? I know your grandma so maybe it's only fair that you know mine. Your grandma's nice. I like her." Gerard giggled and I subconsciously ushered him into the house because it was starting to rain, of all things.

Gerard continued with his story once he had dropped himself on the sofa, still smiling lazily. He didn't even seem to notice being inside rather than out. "And then, after I drew her, I had a couple glasses of wine. I don't really like wine. Do you like wine, Frankie? I don't. And then I went to the park! Do you remember that, Frankie? Do you remember the park? I do. You dropped your wallet when you left but I didn't notice. And then, when I went home, I had - Um... I don't know what I had actually! But now I'm kind of drunk and sitting with you, Frankie. And you have your wallet back." Gerard snickered at something in his head and I just sat there, stunned.

"Frankie." I muttered to myself. He didn't hear me.

Gerard began to hum, cheeks faintly rosy and the corners of his mouth still curled upwards. He was an incredibly happy drunk, which made this somewhat easier. Although, I assumed he was around my age and therefore too young to drink.

"Gerard?" I asked tentatively. He looked at me and made an 'mhm' noise. "How old are you?"

He frowned briefly, as though struggling to recall his age. Finally, he said "Nineteen."

Only two years underage, which I guess wasn't too bad. Still very much illegal, of course, but not as bad as it could have been.

But that's not exactly how one should view the law.

"May I please have a cup of coffee, Frankie?" Gerard queried, standing up. I noticed that he lightly swayed from side to side as he stood. I nodded and I guided him through to the kitchen.

-

"She hasn't repainted." His face was hidden, covered by his coffee mug and his thick hair as he sipped the drink. "It's the same blue as when Mikey and I used to visit with our grandma. That was when we were really little kids and it was fun. Your grandma used to make us juice and cookies while she did grandma stuff with our grandma. It was fun."

I noticed that he kept repeating things while intoxicated. Also, he wouldn't shut the fuck up. I didn't really mind, but, boy, he talked quickly. And it was all very slurred. "I don't remember her ever mentioning you or - who's Mikey?" I asked.

"My kid brother. He's sixteen. You'd like him." Gerard put his empty cup down and I saw that he was smiling again. Happy little fucker was still fucking smiling. It was almost cute. "May I please have something to eat?" He said suddenly. I gestured towards the fridge and cookie jar and told him to help himself, watching him do so.

He was silent as he ate, quickly wolfing down only two cookies and a banana before turning back to me. Guess what the bastard was still doing? Fucking beaming. "Your lip piercing suits you, Frankie. It's very shiny. May I touch it? I don't like needles but that looks very pretty on you."

I went red. "Touch it?"

"Yes. May I?"

"Um, I guess." I didn't really want him to but I felt too awkward to say no. It might have been the fact that he was an extremely smiley motherfucker today. Reaching out a pale hand with a wondrous look in his eyes, Gerard gently prodded my piercing. He giggled and prodded it twice more, still gentle.

"It's very pretty." He informed me again. I thanked him awkwardly.

-

"You really did pick a perfect time to drop by," I told Gerard with a smile, watching him shuffle over to my bed and flop onto his back. He let out an 'ooft' noise as he hit the mattress and I chuckled at him as he stared in wonder at my plain white ceiling. I sat myself opposite him on my desk chair, sitting cross legged.

"Why?" He asked. The coffee seemed to have made him vaguely less wasted, but he was still pretty far gone. He didn't seem to notice how much he had starfished upon throwing himself on my blankets, or how his clothes became somewhat displaced. His black t-shirt had ridden up a few inches when he had landed on my bed, exposing a small chunk of his stomach. He didn't have abs, and he wasn't tanned, and it was attractive. Or maybe that was just the lack of girlfriends and boyfriends I had had in my life causing me to be attracted to anything around my age. Things get lonely when it's just your hand, and you start seeing the most random of people as the most beautiful and iridescent of beings. Even socially awkward, quiet, drunk guys you accidentally find at abandoned playgrounds.

"Frankie?"

I snapped out of my daze, realising I'd been staring at the white flesh between Gerard's jeans and his shirt for a good while. Thank god he was too intoxicated to notice and was still focused on my ceiling. "She's not coming home until the day after tomorrow; she's visiting someone in Doylestown or something." I answered, looking anywhere but his stomach. Yeah, I definitely needed to start dating.

Dating! Ha!

Gerard snapped into an upright position and looked at me with wide eyes and a grin. "Can we watch films? And order pizza? I have cash! Aw, dude!" He jumped up and tugged on my arm excitedly, beaming and making me laugh. I considered giving in to my first thoughts and gently asking him to leave, but there was a spark in his face that made me want to let him roam my house doing whatever the fuck he wanted.

-

He got very jittery. After another cup of coffee a litre of the coke that he made me buy with the pizza, his energy levels sky-rocketed and he was getting slightly irritating.

"Frankie! Frankie! Frankie!" He yelled, beaming and clutching a slice of pizza. Buffy the Vampire Slayer had been marathonned at his request, and it was getting late. I looked up from staring absent-mindedly at the last of the pizza in the box on the coffee table and saw him moving excitedly from one foot to the other.

"What?" I replied in a tired voice, letting out a small sigh.

Gerard really did look the picture of childhood innocence. Mouth spread in a wide white grin, dark hair ruffled and messy on his head, eyes shining and gleeful, fingers messily clutching greasy junk food. He looked so young and it made me kind of sad that he was full of alcohol. That thought ruined my image of him and I had to look away. I didn't normally have a problem with people drinking, but for some reason I disliked the thought of the quiet artist doing so.

"Can we - Frankie?" He cut himself off, frowning and dropping his arms to his sides. He returned his slice to the almost empty box and wiping his messy hands on one of the paper napkins I had brought through. Out of the corner of my eye, I glimpsed the blur that was Gerard sitting down very close next to me. I made eye contact with him again and he gently placing his hand on my forearm. " Are you okay? What's wrong?"

His lips were turned down at the corners and his eyes were suddenly concerned, as though he could read my mind and see all my unforeseen sadness for his alcohol consumption that day. He watched me, patiently waiting for a reply.

I bit my lip, finally mumbling "Why did you get drunk today?"

Gerard's jaw dropped open. "What?"

I repeated the question and he just gaped.

"I dunno, Frank, I guess I just didn't want to be sober." He mumbled after a few silent minutes. He didn't call me Frankie and he didn't make eye contact, and for some reason that made me want to cry.


	5. FIVE

Gerard's chin was resting on his hands, his elbows resting on his knees, and his body was sitting slumped over on the couch. "I'm so sleepy," he groaned, shutting his eyes and yawning.

I bit my lip, thinking. It was only us home and I didn't think it would have been safe for him to go back to his place by himself... "Do you want to sleep over?" I blurted out all in a rush. It was a stupid thing to say, really; one of us would have to sleep on my bedroom floor and I wasn't the best host. Or had I proved that wrong by taking him in for so many hours? Fuck knows.

He considered it for barely a moment before nodding and smiling at me with his eyes still closed. Yawning again, he stood slowly to his feet and mindlessly followed me upstairs.

It was decided - or rather, he flopped face down on my bed the second he got in - that Gerard would sleep in my bed while I lay on the floor. I didn't mind; I had been going to suggest that to him anyway before he threw himself down, for the second time that day, on my blankets.

"Wait, don't you need to phone your parents?" I asked, realising suddenly and causing a groan to erupt from deep within Gerard's throat.

"Yes," he mumbled, hoisting himself to his feet with a lot of effort and taking out his phone. "I'll text my dad, he won't go crazy like my mom would." He screwed up his face for a second. "She doesn't have a phone anyway."

He borrowed some of my clothes to sleep in. I was a little shorter and smaller than him, but it worked out and he fell asleep so soon I thought he might have faked it.

-

Gerard didn't make any noise while he slept. Only soft breathy tufts or air from his somewhat open mouth and the occasional stir. I was still awake while he wasn't, needless to say. I didn't know why I couldn't sleep. I just couldn't.

I grew restless after maybe twenty minutes or so, wriggling out of the warm nest I had made and quietly making my way downstairs. Gerard didn't even wince.

It was late. Or early, depending on how one views 3:43am. I wondered briefly if Gerard would call it late or early before remembering that those sorts of things weren't important things to know about acquaintances. Barely acquaintances, I thought. Gerard and I were practically strangers, when one thought about it.

I yelped when a voice spoke from the kitchen doorway. It was kind of like our very first encounter, only this time I didn't run away when I saw Gerard.

He frowned at me sleepily, continously tugging at the bottom of his - my - shirt in a way that I assumed was absent-minded. "Why are you awake?" Gerard's voice was much more deep and scratchy, and he mumbled like a motherfucker. I almost didn't understand him.

I shrugged in reply, my response somewhat delayed. "Dunno," I said. "Why are you awake?"

Gerard shuffled over to the dining table and sat down, still pulling at the hem of his shirt. "I threw up and then you weren't there."

My eyebrows shot up and my mouth opened in surprise. Not that I should have been actually shocked considering the guy had been drunk as hell. "Are you okay?"

Gerard nodded and gave me a sheepish, tired smile. "Yes. I used one of your spare toothbrushes by the way, I hope you don't mind."

I shook my head quickly and returned his small smile, gesturing vaguely with my hands out of sheer awkwardness. "Nah, it's cool, man," I told him.

He laughed to himself quietly. "Don't worry, by the way," he muttered, "I'm still a little drunk but I won't throw up again until the next time."

The next time. I laughed nervously.

-

Gerard proved to be very unlike his drunken, confident self when we both woke at around noon.

It suited me, however. There was no pressure to listen to him babble or to make sure he didn't break anything; we simply drank a mug of coffee each in silence. It was peaceful.

"May I please have a couple of painkillers?" Gerard asked softly. For the second time his speech was hard to hear, and I had to awkwardly ask him to repeat it.

Once he had swallowed the tablets necessary for ridding himself of what I assumed was a headache, he left. Merely dressed himself and shut the door behind him.

I felt oddly lonely once the stranger was gone.


	6. SIX

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a very mediocre filler, sorry!!

"I don't like you going out for so long every day," my grandma told me worriedly. We were sat at the dining table with dinner in front of us, the cat pawing at each of us every so often. "You live in New Jersey, Frank, not blooming Disneyland."

She never swore, my grandma. It was probably her age. Old people find words like 'bloody' to be shocking, which I personally almost laugh at but understand because of the way times change. It's odd to think about, really. Languages have evolved so marginally yet so greatly over, maybe, only 40 years that kids these days say 'damn' without consequences when they would have been punished severely back then. Or perhaps I am merely overthinking my grandmother's refusal to ever let me say 'damn' in her house.

I shrugged in response to what she said, stabbing vacantly at a roast potato. I knew that what I was doing could easily be called stupid, but I'd been doing it for, what, a week? Two weeks? And nothing bad had happened to me. Nothing bad had happened to Gerard either, and he had been visiting that park for much longer than I had.

Gerard. I hadn't seen him in almost two days. But was that to be expected? I mean, our relationship only stretched to acquaintances at most. 

"Frank?" She was suddenly concerned, placing her hand slowly and gently on top of mine where it sat beside my plate. I looked up to see her frowning at me. "Frank, honey, are you okay?"

I forced a smile. "Of course," I answered, trying to forget about Gerard Way. I tried to forget his voice, and his hair, and his face. I desperately pushed away the memory of him drunk and therefore oddly depressing. His whole presence the other day had depressed me, and for some reason the feeling kept creeping back.

When I finally felt like I had gotten enough of him off my mind, I came to my senses to see that my grandma had both cleared the table and left the room. She knew when I wanted to be alone.

The cat, funnily enough, didn't take the hint and pounced on my lap as soon as I sat on my bed. I hadn't even seen him follow me upstairs, let alone come into my room so I jumped when I felt the weight of him on my thighs. He was a pretty fat cat, and oddly clingy for a feline. Usually cats are quite... Cat-like, but old Hercules wasn't. A stupid name for such a lazy, cuddly creature who looked like a marshmallow but my grandma had picked it for him years ago.

Hercules pushed his face almost aggressively at my hand and I petted him absently, staring at the pillow on my bed.

I found it odd how much I had become invested in the awkward artist I had come across at a park. Perhaps seeing him drunk and indirectly vulnerable had sparked some sort of maternal instinct in me. That was certainly a very... Curious thought.

Perhaps I could become a guidance counsellor.

I laughed at the thought.

-

I received a small text from my cousin Ray at around ten that night, simply asking how I was doing. Ray was a few years older than me and was in college as far as I knew, studying something technical. He was a cool guy; another guitarist. But he was more into Metallica than Misfits.

What really surprised me, however, was what I found in my contact list after I sent my reply. A number that I hadn't added myself, under the name of "Grrarsxoxp". A drunkenly typed "Gerard xoxo" I realised after several minutes deciphering it.

The sincerity of his number being given to me was questionable. People do stupid things when they're drunk.

Should I text him?

Should I call him?

No, we weren't even friends.

Yes, I wanted to know if he was okay.

No.

Yes.

No.

Yes.

No.

I pressed call.

I waited. Then I heard his voice. He apologised boredly and I was confused for a few seconds before I realised that it was his voicemail. I sighed and hung up.

My ringtone played several minutes later.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long, a lot of stuff happened and I didn't really have a chance to write

   "H-hello?" Gerard said slowly, his voice somewhat deeper and scratchier than usual. He didn't sound drunk, which was a start, but he did sound pretty distracted.

     "Hi, Gerard," I answered. I tried not to sigh when I fell back onto my bed and laid down.

      Gerard was silent for a few seconds so I told him who it was. "I know," he replied quietly. "Hi, Frank. How are you?"

     "I'm..." I didn't know how I was, so I just gave him a reply that I didn't have to think about.  "Alright. Why did you give me this number?"

      I should have asked him how he was, out of politeness, but I didn't.

    "I have no idea, Frank," Gerard sighed softly and I knew instantly that it was a bad time to have phoned him. I probably should have deduced that from the general air of the call, but I guess I was just being a little slow.

     "Are you okay?" I rubbed a hand over my face and waited for the answer. He mumbled a 'no' and I asked why, not expecting the vast size of his oncoming confession.

     "I feel like ash," he blurted out. "I feel all grey and burned out and papery. I feel... Ashy. I don't know, I just feel grey. Mikey's staying with his friend tonight and my parents are downstairs watching a film. I don't want to talk to them; my mom threw the bottles of beer down the sink and got really mad. I don't even know how she found them! Dad wouldn't have yelled at me, he would just clap my back and say something like "go get 'em, tiger" because he's a dad. My mom's a mom. She's a nice mom, but she's a protective mom, y'know? Oh, god, Frank, I'm so lonely right now. Can you come over?"

      I gaped at the ceiling. Taking everything Gerard had rambled at me was taking some time, and it must have been a good ten seconds before I realised that he had asked me a question.

     "Come over?" I repeated stupidly.

     "Yeah. Please? It's not far from your house, I promise. A ten minute walk, maximum."

     I thought about it. It was nearing 9pm and the sun had set, but my grandma might think that I'm responsible enough. I'm short, but not tiny.

     "Okay, Gerard," I said finally.

     After our call ended, I grabbed a jacket and a pair of sneakers and made my way down to the living room, where my grandma was watching tv.

     "Frank?" My grandma looked startled at my outdoor attire. "Are you going out? It's 9 o' clock, honey."

     I nodded. "I'm going to a friend's house, it's important. Don't worry, he just needs me to be with him for a while. It's only like 10 minutes away, I swear." She considered it for an irritatingly long time before shaking her head, standing up and looking at me sternly.

     "I'm driving you," she informed me, pulling a coat out of nowhere and ushering me towards the front door. "Where does this friend live?"

     I sighed and told her, and when she asked me in the car who my friend was I just said 'his name is Gerard." She didn't ask when I'd be back, or how I had met him, just dropped me in front of his house and told me she loved me.

     Gerard had texted me, telling me to enter through the unlocked back door instead of the front door, and when I did I was met with him throwing me a forced smile and silently ushering me in. I took off my shoes out of habit and glanced around the kitchen that the back door led into. It was a lot less orderly than mine, with used dishes everywhere, I observed. 

     Gerard quietly offered me coffee and I accepted it, watching him make cups for both me and himself. His movements were so fluid, just like when he was drawing. He looked so tired, with dark circles under his eyes and his hair unwashed. He smelled like extremely strong coffee and faintly of beer. And his hoodie and sweatpants didn't look the cleanest. I noticed that he kept gently sighing.

     "My parents are in there," he whispered to me when I had my coffee and we were walking to his bedroom, pointing. I glanced through the living room door, which was cracked open, and saw a tired-looking man sitting on one of the couches watching a film.

       Following Gerard into his bedroom, I breathed in the smell of coffee, paint, and general teenage boy. It was a weird combination; the pleasantness of the coffee and paint mixed with the funky odour of a typical male adolescent and I didn't know whether or not I liked it.

      He gestured for me to sit somewhere and I took my place on top of his bed, sitting cross-legged and sipping at my coffee. It was good coffee. 

      We sat in silence for a long time before Gerard sighed and asked me, "Can you hug me?"

     It certainly wasn't something I had expected of the visit but I nodded and pulled him into me. I was short and logically should have been the one sitting on his lap instead of the other way around, but fuck logic. He gently slid his arms around my torso and his face into my neck, and I just held him. I understood the need to just be held, even if physical contact wasn't my favourite thing in the world.

     "Usually I would talk to Mikey, but he's not here," he mumbled into my skin. "I wouldn't really tell him much, obviously, because he's just a kid, but he's always willing to just be there. I hate that stupid Pete kid. He's annoying and I want my little brother right now."

     I wasn't really sure how to process that so I just kept hugging him. He didn't say or do anything to suggest that my intended comfort wasn't comforting enough, which was reassuring.

     "Thank you, Frank," he said eventually, removing his face but only taking his arms away from my sides a little bit, so we were still touching. "You're good at this," he chuckled weakly.

      "You're welcome, Gerard," I replied, giving him a small smile and pushing the hair out of his eyes. He smiled back and for a brief and bizarre moment I thought he was going to kiss me.


	8. Chapter 8

Being the first to wake up at a sleepover is never fun. Being the first to wake up at a sleepover at a house that isn't your own is even worse. One never knows what to do. Or, at least, I never do. It's awkward and I don't like it. What on earth are you supposed to do?

Gerard didn't snore, but he did sleep-talk a little. He kept muttering things about his brother and whoever Pete was. I couldn't understand too much, except his overall opinion of the latter. Apparently Gerard thought he had stupid hair. And that he was stealing his brother from Gerard.

His bed was pretty big but the sheets hadn't been changed recently. They weren't unbearably disgusting, but I would have preferred to sleep in something less stained with coffee and paint and god knows what else. Gerard lay next to me with a separate blanket, far away and still asleep.

At some point I noticed the router on his desk and tried the wifi password off of the sticker on the back with my phone. It didn't work and I got it correct after three tries. His wifi was named "Sunnydale High" and his password was literally "theslayer". Honestly.

Unfortunately, my bladder didn't listen to my frequent attempts to convince it that I did not in fact need to pee, and was forced to abandon my useless internet browsing. I padded across Gerard's bedroom and opened his creaky door as quietly as possible, entering the hallway.

"What the hell?"

I jumped and turned around. What was it with this family and coming up behind me unexpectedly?

"Uh, hi, Mr, uh," I didn't know his last goddamn name. Fuck. Gerard's dad frowned but I could see his suspicion of me drop slightly, probably from the politeness.

"Way. Donald Way. And who might you be?" He said.

I held out my hand to shake his and he took it, still frowning. "I'm Frank Iero, sir, I'm Gerard's, uh, friend. Gerard's friend." I lied.

"Friend?!" Donald blurted out, before realising just how rudely he had spoken about his eldest son and trying to cover it up. "I didn't know he had friends."

I shrugged, "I guess he does now kinda, sir."

Donald nodded slowly, not looking at me. "Well, Frank, if you, uh, want any food just help yourself," his smile was somewhat forced by but I told myself that it was because it was only 9:30am.

I thanked him, relieved myself in their bathroom, and stood alone in their kitchen. Doing the latter turned out to be awkward as hell.

I wasn't really hungry, but I was vaguely thirsty so I drank a glass of water just so I was doing something.

"You're still here," Gerard said from where he had randomly appeared in the doorway, quiet and with a voice that was very scratchy. It was hard to hear and understand him in the mornings and it took me a second to figure out what he had said. I held back a chuckle when I saw his Batman boxers poking into view above his pyjama bottoms. He was such a nerd.

Which reminded me of something else which I had thinking about mentioning to him. "So I infiltrated your wifi," I said, trying my very hardest not to smirk. Gerard didn't say anything for a few moments, instead beginning to fix himself a cup of coffee. The guy literally still had his eyes half-closed and he was already making coffee. Amazing.

"Wannabe hacker-from-a-bad-spy-film language aside, how did you do that? I thought I changed my password from the stupid one on the sticker." He said coolly, not yet looking at me and sounding suspiciously articulate for someone who still had his eyes mostly closed.

I glanced at his boxers again. "Well, you're kind of a nerd- "

"What's new," he interrupted boredly.

"And your password was literally the slayer," I finished, watching him sip his coffee, which looked very strong and very much scalding.

He chuckled. "Oh yeah," he smiled loosely at me, "I'd forgotten about that. You'd be surprised by the number of people who don't figure it out, actually. That's how I weed out the ones I don't want to associate myself with."

"You mean the ones who've never seen Buffy?" I laughed.

"Damn straight. Do you want coffee? I would've offered you some before but I was feeling a little dead," he asked, taking out another mug despite me not having answered. I accepted and a steaming, strong load of caffeine was in my hands soon after. Gerard sure made strong coffee. 

We heard the front door shut, breaking the near silence.

"That'll be my dad going to work," Gerard explained. None of it really mattered but I mentioned that I hadn't seen his mom yet even though it was nearing 10:30am on a weekday. "She works at the elementary school so she has to leave at like 8am... I dunno how she does it."

"With a lot of coffee, if she's anything like you," I joked and Gerard gave me a genuine smile. "So it's just us?"

He nodded and dumped his empty mug in the sink, stretching out his arms and groaning.

I didn't feel too good; I usually showered by this time of the day plus Gerard's bed had been kind of... Not gross, but nearing it certainly. I didn't feel too clean and therefore pretty uncomfortable. I quietly asked him if I could shower, suddenly awkward again.

"Yeah, uh, of course," he said, vaguely waving a hand near the doorway of the kitchen, "I might shower too actually, it's been a good few days."

I tried to stop my mouth falling a few centimetres open at just how nonchalant he was. Did he not mind feeling so dirty? I'm one of those people who has to feel clean to feel comfortable, and I was pretty jealous of how Gerard obviously wasn't one of those people.

-

Gerard Way had a goddamn Hobbit sword. It was kind of cool in a way, aesthetically at least. It was intricate as fuck and I ran my fingers over part of the design. The thing didn't seem to be plastic, and looked like it definitely cost more than a few bucks.

"Yeah, yeah," Gerard was like a fucking cat, fucking hell. I spun around and hid my hands behind my back guiltily, as though that would make it look as though I hadn't been poking his stuff. He was probably quite protective of the sword, given how expensive it looked and how much of a nerd he was. I looked at him and he shook his head with a smile, bending to take a hairbrush from the floor. "We both know I'm a giant fucking nerd," he said while dragging the brush through his wet hair.

"The, uh, sword's actually kinda neat," I told him, gesturing at it and taking my eyes of him. I'd been staring for some reason.

Gerard smiled lazily into the mirror, still brushing his hair. "Thanks. Frank, do you want to borrow a clean shirt?" He drawled and that's when I realised I'd only put on my jeans, and he was fully clothed from dressing himself in the bathroom.

I blushed and accepted.


	9. NINE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry that this took so long

"So where's your mom?" I asked Gerard, poking at the chilli cheese fries we had ordered. His dad had given him twenty bucks to order takeout for lunch/dinner - it was 5pm - before retreating to his office, but mine was still too hot and greasy to consume.

"She'll be at work," Gerard told me as he poured coke from the bottle we'd bought into two glasses. His tongue poked out slightly between his teeth while he concentrated on not spilling any with his somewhat shaking hands, and I realised I was staring at him. I don't know why I was staring. I just was.

Gerard had an interesting face. Not bad interesting like what the hell is that dude's face, more like I've never seen a face remotely like his and that's remarkable. It was aesthetically pleasing too. Not that that mattered.

"She isn't home during the day really; she has a bunch of other shit she does too. Clubs and stuff," he continued, handing me one of the cups of coke and nodding slightly when I thanked him.

I sipped my drink and tapped my fork against the polystyrene container my food was in. "Do you mind?"

"Do I mind her not being here a lot?" Gerard confirmed. I nodded. "Nah, not really. I really only talk to Mikey rather than she and dad."

Gerard stood up from his bed, padding over to his desk where a shitty-looking CD player and a stack of CDs lived. "Do you like the Smashing Pumpkins?" He asked me. I hadn't ever listened them but I trusted Gerard's taste, so I just nodded.

He was forced to hit the machine a few times before it whirred into action and began to play Gerard's CD and I snorted. He joined me in the laughter and on the bed, shoving a hand through his hair and stabbing at his fries with a fork.

"Yeah," he grinned at me, "it's a fuckin' piece of shit. Pretty sure it's as old as Mikey, too."

-

The second record Gerard had put on had finished when I jolted awake.

"You're awake," he observed in a monotonous voice, eyes on the comic in his hands as he read. I sat up quickly and rubbed my eyes with my knuckles. My back and shoulders hurt like fuck and cracked when I moved them gingerly, making me flinch. I must have been twisted up something bad when I dozed off. When my head passed closer to Gerard I caught a whiff of vodka, but not a great deal. And he didn't seem to be drunk so I concluded that he'd only had a little while I slept.

"What's the time?" I asked, ignoring Gerard's sarcastic comment.

"Just coming up to midnight, sleepyhead," he replied as he continued to page through his comic book, a smirk on his face while he waited for my reaction.

I flopped back onto the bed with a sigh. "Shit."

"Indeed."

Pulling my phone out of my pocket I saw it was dead. It had probably been dead for the whole day, so if my grandma had tried to contact me I had no idea. Then again, she knew where I was and hadn't dropped by.

"You wanna charge your phone, dude?" Gerard chuckled. I nodded with a small smile. "Mikey has the same one as you, I'll go get his charger."

He stretched, left, and returned empty-handed. "His room is tidy as fuck and the fucker's still at the Wentz' with his goddamn charger. Sorry, man," he sighed. "D'you know your grandma's number?" He held out his own unlocked phone and I accepted it with a nod.

As I was dialling my grandma Gerard slumped beside me again, and I swear to god I heard him grumble, "the bastards are definitely gay."

"Hi, Frank," I heard her say, her tone short and a sigh sounding down the line. "You ready to be picked up, honey?"

"Yes please," I answered sheepishly. Politeness is key with grandmothers, needless to say.

She sighed again. "See you in a few, Frank."

"Thanks, grandma," I mumbled, making Gerard snort at me. He asked if I was in trouble with her and I shrugged in response.

I felt a hand on my arm all of a sudden, and looked up from the phone to see Gerard smiling at me. His eyes were tired but he wasn't giving me a forced grimace.

" You're a cool guy, Frank," he said, taking me by surprise, "it's nice being near you."

What?

But then I realised that I thought the same thing; Gerard's company wasn't trying... At least, when he wasn't drunk. But that was beside the point. Even if we weren't actually doing anything particularly exciting, or even if we weren't talking at all, it was still nice to be around this guy.

I smiled back at him, "you too, man," I agreed, "you don't make me as nervous as you used to, and as other people do."

A laugh broke the silence of the house and Gerard grinned at me. "Same with you actually."

We just kind of looked at each other for a few seconds, still smiling, before the Way's doorbell rang out and made both of us jump. I felt his hand leave my arm.

Gerard didn't come down to the front door with me but I didn't mind. He helped me gather up my stuff and said goodbye with a small smile, and that was really all he needed to do.

My grandma looked tired when I greeted her and walked with her to her car, but not exactly mad at me. She sighed but placed her hand gently on my shoulder, letting me know that I wasn't actually in hot water.

"I hadn't heard from the Ways in years," she informed me after we'd started driving. "They were good people," her face and tone were oddly sad but I didn't question it. She was probably just missing the friendship I assumed she used to have with the family.

"Yeah, they are."


	10. Chapter 10

Gerard probably hadn't expected me to answer so quickly when he phoned me, as he answered my 'hey' with an 'oh, um, hi, Frank. Um.'

I smiled at his voice. It was kind of high-pitched and was pretty damn cute. Not that that mattered in a friend's voice. Were we friends? I didn't know but I didn't want to ask him either.

"Do you want to go to the park? Mikey has that annoying Pete kid over and I have serious artist's block," he asked me when I remained silent.

I glanced at my grandma, who was asleep on the armchair opposite me with her newspaper still in the limp hands on her lap. She probably wouldn't wake up for another few hours.

"Maybe you could draw me lounging on that old merry-go-round," I joked, not expecting the - probably exaggerated - gasp from Gerard.

"Hey, that's a good idea, Frank! I forgot that I needed to work on body form," Gerard said, his toothy smile obvious in his voice. "Thanks, man. So will I see you there in 15?"

Well, I couldn't exactly back out now. "Yeah, dude, 15." I returned the smile, even though he couldn't see me. I just felt like smiling.

-

"This is kind of gross," I said uneasily, kicking one of the mossy, rusty bars of the merry-go-round.

"Art is sacrifice!" Gerard cried out pretentiously in a fake English accent. He sounded surprisingly like Rupert Giles.

I stuck my middle finger up at him but he didn't see it; he was too busy wiggling on one of the benches with his legs crossed, probably trying to get comfortable. "Shut up, Way."

He still didn't look up. "Make me, Iero," he deadpanned. I stared, bewildered, but he didn't say anything more. He just kept fucking wiggling.

I attempted to lift my leg high enough to kick off the uppermost moss with my shoe, but to no avail. But God knows I wasn't draping myself across the green filth, so I turned back to Gerard. He had stopped squirming and was now flicking through his sketchbook, which looked new.

"Gerard," I called. He answered with an 'mmhm?' and looked up expectantly. "Can you help me clear this?"

Gerard made his way over to the aging toy and immediately began to push off the moss with his hoodie sleeve pulled over his hand. It was moist and squelchy and pretty disgusting but Gerard didn't seem to notice as he rhythmically scraped off the vegetation.

"Now sit," he ordered when he was done, pointing at the metal plate in the middle of the merry-go-round. I clambered on as he marched back to the bench, suddenly authoritve and even walking in a bossy manner. He was suddenly Meryl Streep in Devil Wears Prada.

"Should I go all Kate Winslet?" I snorted at my own joke but Gerard just shrugged.

"Your choice, dude." He said.

I decided not to, in the end. It was too chilly for that.

-

"You're a good model; you don't complain that much," Gerard mused an hour and a half later.

I frowned. "I did, you just ignored me."

He wandered over to the swings. "Like I said, you don't complain."

I held back a smirk and rolled my eyes instead, joining him by the swings but not sitting down just then. "Everything here is so goddamn mucky, Christ. How can you even sit there?" I gestured at Gerard's swing.

He leaned over without hesitation and rubbed at the swing in front of me with his sleeve until it was more or less clean. "Just don't touch my sleeve, yeah?"

I nodded and sat, dragging my shoes across the ground slowly while the old, rusty swing swayed.

"So what's the real reason you don't like Pete?" I asked, seemingly out of the blue. I had been wondering for a while, actually, but it had taken a long time to work up the courage to ask. I wouldn't have done so with anyone else, but there was a level of - discussed - mutual comfort between us which made me feel like I could.

Gerard shrugged. "He's there too much," he answered nonchalantly. I raised my eyebrows at him. "Fine, I feel like he's taking away my only friend." The dude cracked bizarrely quickly.

"Your only friend?" I repeated. I didn't repeat it because I was wanting him to correct himself and say that he and I were friends, I was just surprised. I mean, he didn't speak about anyone outside of his family, but I had assumed the guy had at least people whom he hung out with occasionally.

"We're real close, Mikey and me," a tiny smile started to grow on his mouth. "He's not just my little brother like you'd think."

I nodded slowly, processing it. "He's not replacing you, if that's what you think is happening," I told him finally. He just shrugged.

"Yeah," he didn't look at me or say anything else, just started pushing against the ground to swing properly.

The swinging turned into a competition somewhere along the way, with both of us trying to get higher than the other. We were even trash talking each other, and any minute I was scared my stomach was going to explode from how hard I was laughing. It was such a contrast from Gerard confessing and even though I knew I should have been coaxing him into talking more about how he felt instead of bottling it up, he threw his head back like a kid when he laughed. It was cute.

I must have forgotten to keep holding onto the chains at some point, because no sooner than me just getting higher than Gerard, the ground hit my knees with a thud.

"Frank!" Gerard yelled, jumping off of his own swing immediately and crouching beside me. "You're shaking, are you-"

I rolled over onto my back with dust in my hair and my face screwed up in laughter. "Dude, oh my god," I said in disbelief, winded but unhurt.

Gerard lightly slapped my arm. "I thought you were fucking hurt!" He cried, grinning just like me but trying - and failing - to hide it.

He was still kneeling beside me, hovering and trying to make sure I wasn't injured in any way since I was being too much of an idiot to do anything but cackle and lie there.

"Jesus, Frank," he muttered, picking up my hands and staring at my now dirty, grazed palms before moving his gaze to my face. "You were complaining so much about how dirty the merry-go-round and now you're covered in dust. Idiot."

I stuck my tongue out at him. "Jackass."

He kept examining my face. "Yeah," he mumbled. "You have a lot of dirt in your hair." One second he was pushing my dirty hair out of my dirty face and the next he was pushing his mouth against mine.

His lips tasted like cheap chapstick and running away from them tasted like blood in my lungs. I'm not a good runner.


	11. ELEVEN

"Do you think he liked the kiss, Herc?" I gloomily asked my cat's indifferent face. He didn't answer, instead deciding to headbutt me and smush his face against mine. "You're so weird," I huffed at him. Hercules looked at me as though to say 'says the one lying on his stomach on his bedroom floor talking to a damn cat.'

Are cats smart enough to think we're weird? Was Hercules aware that I was full to the brim of regret and confusion and sadness as I lay there on the carpet for upwards of an hour? Or was he just bored that I wasn't doing anything with him?

"Should I phone him?"

Hercules shrugged. No he didn't, I'm lying; he just headbutted me again. Thankfully he didn't have a very heavy head so I wasn't given the shame of a pet-induced concussion. Stupid violent cat.

"I guess I should then," I thought aloud, watching Hercules saunter over to my guitar and rub his nose against it. "You're no help," I huffed at him. He ignored me and kept making acquaintance with my guitar.

I groaned into the carpet until I ran out of air. What if Gerard didn't answer? Or he didn't like guys? What if it was all a mistake and now he hated me? Hell, I didn't even know that I liked guys. I still didn't know. The thought have never really occurred to me and the more I thought about it the more confused I was, for God's sake.

Jesus, this was all so damn cliché. Why the fuck did I even care? Why does anyone care? I sat up and punched my mattress moodily.

"Fuck this," I muttered, feeling myself pout like a child. Or Buffy the vampire slayer; she pouted a lot.

The sudden buzzing of my phone yanked me out of my sulk and I answered the call without checking who it was from.

"Hey, Frank," my father greeted me quietly, sheepishly. "How's it going?"

I didn't say anything. My chest was now so tight I could barely breathe, let alone speak.

"Frank?"

"Hi, uh, dad," I managed out eventually. "It's, um, it's fine."

My dad was nodding, I could tell. "Good, good. So, uh, listen, son. I have something to tell you, but I shouldn't really be telling you so don't mention it to Marisol."

I scoffed. Like I'd ever talk to my stepmother; she was a fucking bitch. And not just because she didn't let my father talk to me or visit me or write to me.

"Right, what is it?"

He sighed. "We're moving to America, Frank. Me, Marisol, and the kids. We're flying over to Pennsylvania next week."

Now I was the one nodding my head continuously. I pressed my lips together, feeling myself involuntarily sitting on my bed as though I needed support. I didn't need support, I told myself, just like how I don't need my dad moving back to the same country as me.

I swallowed. "Do you not like Spain?" It was kind of a joke, even though it was a pathetic one. "The heat get to you?"

A nervous chuckle crackled down the line. This call must have been costing him a fortune by now. "Nah, Marisol's work got transferred."

I didn't say anything, partly because I wanted to cost the idiot as much money as possible.

"Would you want to come out and visit me? I'll pay for your travel."

"Would she be okay with that?" I meant Marisol. I rolled my eyes, my father could be so stupid sometimes.

He paused. "Well, we won't tell her."

I sighed. "Right, I'll think about it. But I have to get back to doing chores now, dad. You know Grandma."

"Right, yes, of course, son. Uh, do me a favour and don't tell her about it right now either, alright, sport?"

"Yeah, dad. Bye," I answered, falling onto my back on the bed once I'd hung up the phone. I wasn't going to think about visiting him, and I think we both knew that. Or, at least, I knew that. He probably wasn't able to tell since, really, we were practically strangers to one another.

-

"Are you okay, love?" My grandma put her hand on mine on the kitchen table and I looked up to see her worried frown. I hated to make her worry, she didn't deserve to worry about some introverted teenager.

"Of course," I forced my mouth into a smile. She narrowed her eyes a bit at me through the dim glow of the ceiling light. I stared up at the lamp. "I think I'll change that lightbulb; I can bare-"

"Frank," grandma squeezed my hand and I looked back at her in guilt of ignoring her. "I'll get the bulb later. What's wrong, honey? Do you want to tell me?"

My grandma was a dear, she really was. A right angel. I smiled genuinely for a moment at how much she actually cared about me and my wellbeing, before remembering what had been bothering me. I decided to tell her, against my glimmer of a father's wishes. He wasn't around, why should I care what he wanted? Besides, he had married Marisol so his judgment obviously wasn't the best.

"My dad called, said he's coming back, " I blurted out all in a rush.

Grandma, stunned, gripped my fingers more tightly as her mouth opened and closed like a goldfish.

"To Jersey?! With that bitch of a wife?"

I grinned, without meaning to, at her cursing. "Do you not like her either, grandma?"

Grandma chuckled. "Not in the least; she's a right piece of work. And your father isn't the most dedicated of men nowadays."

"Do I have to go and visit him? When he comes back? They're moving to Pennsylvania and he asked me to fly over." I asked, hesitant.

She frowned again. "Do you want to?"

"No."

"Then no, you don't have to. You don't have to do anything you don't want to, Frankie."

I smiled widely at her, squeezing her fingers like she had done with mine. "Except SATs."

She laughed and tapped my cheek twice with her hand. "You're a good boy, Frank. Even if your hair is too long." She stood and began clearing the table, scooping up multiple dishes at once with complete ease as I fumbled to help. "Now, when your dad calls again, give the phone straight to me and- Oh! I just remembered! Donald Way called, said his son seemed off and that you two were friendly. Maybe you should go down and see him? What was his name? Gerard?"

"Yeah," I mumbled, "Gerard..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i feel like i use loads of scottish/british phrases that could sound off when coming from an american character so if there's anything that really should be changed please tell me!!


	12. Twelve

There's a strange glory in doing something which you were told not to by someone you don't like. Telling my grandma that her son was trying to reconcile his withering relationship with his oldest child was definitely one of these somethings. Glorifying, certainly, but it did make things a little complicated. She kept making little lists of pros and cons. There were never many pros.

I kept putting off contacting Gerard. I wrote stupid things about him on scraps of paper, and he wouldn't leave my head, but I didn't pick up the phone. I couldn't face him possibly screaming at me, accusing me of being perverted, telling me I was vile. Or worse, saying that he wanted to kiss me again.

The early hours of the morning crept up on me like a child playing hide and seek; impossibly conspicuous but you pretended not to notice them. I lay on my back on top of my bed, clothes still on and eyes strained open. It hurt to keep them staring at the ceiling but I found it just as painful to close them. Stupid indecisive body.

I checked the time; 02:38.

I also checked my messages. Two, both from Bob. He had apologised for his drunken text ages ago and asked how I was. He obviously didn't care so like hell was I going to, sending a lifeless three-word sentence. Fuck Bob Bryar. That wasn't the sentence I sent, but it would have been funny if it were. God, that would have amused my irrationally bitter self.

My grandma thought I was ill, I think. She kept coming to my room and offering me soup and tea with a pitiful smile. I played along with her as I thought it would be easier than giving her a boring teenage spiel of my stupid problems which somehow rendered me unable to do anything. She kissed my forehead each time she came up.

When I was young I got sick constantly, and it would always make me cry even if I wasn't in pain. There was almost always something wrong with me and it was hard for me to go out and play, so I ended up being lonely and bored. Every time I had the flu, or a bout of asthma, or , I cried and cried and cried, and every time my mom would lie beside me until I fell asleep. She would mop at my teary eyes, push my hair out of my sweaty face, and distract me from whatever illness I was struck with. One time, when I ran out of tissues, she told me to blow my nose on the sleeve of her sweater. It was her favourite sweater, too. She didn't mind at all what she had to do as long as her boy wasn't sad.

I imagined she was lying next to me again, stroking my hair and reassuring me that mommy's here. She would tell me that maybe Gerard would come back, or that he didn't matter at all, whichever she thought was right. She always knew just what to say. She even had this little rhyme she would recite to make me laugh:

"Spider, spider on the wall,  
You know you shouldn't be there at all!  
You know the wall has just been plastered!  
Get off the wall,  
You stupid spider!"

I learned that word when I was three; our neighbour jokingly called my dad a bastard after he forgot to return her power drill, and I happened to be a few metres away. My mom wasn't too thrilled when I ran around the house the next day banging two pots together and yelling, "bastard! Bastard! Daddy's a bastard!" She wasn't too thrilled when our neighbour kept twirling her hair and giggling around my dad either. It's not my fault, he would tell my mom, I'm just cute! My mom could never stay mad at anyone for long. Even when I ran all my crayons up the kitchen wall at once, she didn't shout at me for more than a few seconds.

I bunched up my blankets, putting pillows in all the right places so I could feel like my mom was still here. I fell asleep before dinner.

-

"You're looking a lot better this morning, sweetheart," my grandma said warmly over breakfast. I smiled sheepishly. "Maybe you should go and check on the Way boy today, if you're up to it."

"Uh..." I said wittily. "Maybe, yeah. Could I please have the butter, grandma?"

My grandma passed over the butter slowly, as though she was reluctant. "Frank, I really think you should visit him soon. Donald said he's been even more quiet than usual, and that you could probably help."

I chewed my bottom lip. Mikey was taking care of Gerard to some extent, I expected, but I couldn't argue with my grandma. She was stubborn, like Gerard. I wasn't a total pushover like my dad, but I didn't stand my ground as hard as my grandma always did no matter what the circumstances. I nodded and I scooped out butter, and she beamed at me. I didn't know if her grin was due to getting her way or her grandson finally making friends again after high school. I didn't suppose it mattered.

In the afternoon I walked to the Way's house, wishing and wishing that things with Gerard would be patched up. My hands were ice cold when they rapped on their front door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do u guys miss frank's mom cuz i miss frank's mom


	13. THIRTEEN

Relief flooded Mr. Way's face when he flung his front door open. "Frank," he smiled, "I'm glad you're here. Did June send you over?"

"Who's J- oh, right, grandma," I said, making Mr. Way smile again. God, what bliss he displayed at seeing me. I was almost briefly convinced I was Brad Pitt, but I was too transfixed on the thought of Gerard in the basement to think too hard about the delight I inspired or Mr. Way's seventies-sitcom grin. "Is he in his room?"

"Gerard? Yeah, just go down. Do you want something to drink, son? I was just about to brew myself a coffee."

I smiled at him, slightly forced, "coffee would be awesome. Thank you, sir."

Mr. Way told me to call him Donald and gestured for me to sit at the breakfast bar. I perched myself gingerly on one of the stools, remembering when I cracked my skull falling off of one when I was four, and how I had apparently laughed the whole time I was being treated because I was so hopped up on painkillers. Good times.

The Ways' coffee maker was old and quite the sire of awkward silences, both of us listening to the water slowly boiling and trying not to make eye contact. Finally my eyes landed on an uncomfortable Sears' family portrait. Gerard was who I saw first. He looked around fifteen or sixteen, awkward with his short hair spiked straight up, and next to his brother. The two were sitting in front of their standing parents and Mikey looked almost the same age as Gerard had mentioned he was now; I supposed he was one of those timeless people who never age until they hit their late thirties, at which point they wake up fifty seven and balding. Tough break. Their mother whom I'd never met had the biggest smile, rival only to her husband's, and had her hand resting lovingly on Gerard's shoulder. The whole thing was whimsical.

"Cool portrait, sir," I said, cracking a cocky grin and surprising myself a little.

He cracked one right back and shook his head at the photo. "Cheeky. We used to get 'em done every year right before Christmas. My wife loved it," he frowned and took milk out of the fridge. "I suppose Gerard's told you about them?" I assumed he meant the mother and brother I hadn't met yet, nodding and taking the coffee from him.

Gerard's bedroom door was open a crack but I still knocked cautiously.

"Hey, Frank," he called, almost singing it. I was surprised to see his smile upon seeing me. Shit, why was this family so happy to see me today? I momentarily suspected that they were going to tie me up and harvest my organs for the black market. Not that that wouldn't be kind of a cool way to go, as long as it didn't hurt that much. Imagine some random fucker buying your lungs online to make his own Frankenstein's monster without the hassle of grave-robbing. Neat-o. I made a mental note to add "BE ON THE BLACK MARKET" to my bucket list when I got home.

"Gerard, I, uh, wanted to just, uh..." I didn't know how to continue. What did I want? To be dismembered and haggled for, apparently, but that was more of a long-term goal. Right now as I looked at Gerard lying on his stomach with a copy of The Shining open in front of him, I kind of wanted to just lie next to him and not say anything for a few hours.

"Frank?" He cocked an eyebrow. Was he drunk? "Dude, are you stoned?" He smirked. An almost-jinx: Spooky. I snapped back into the conversation and tried to keep my mind from his smirk. Stupid cocky bastard.

"No, I just, um, didn't know what to say," I paused before just blurting it out. "We kissed and it was weird, and I'm kind of freaking out."

Gerard giggled. The arrow on the meter at the back of my head slid from 'sober' to 'drunk' and pinged. Somewhere in my subconscious, the live studio audience of this bizarre game show applauded. "Yeah, man, we did. So, are you enamoured with my luscious Jersey charm?" He made a kissing face at me and I sipped at my coffee to buy me time to answer. It was pointless, because he kept going. "Have you been switched to boys? Are we fellow friends of Dorothy now or am I being left to murder the Witch of the West by myself?"

Finally, something I had a damn answer to! "I'm bi, man, you didn't change nothing about me," I joined him in his grin and then on his bed when he tugged at my arm; my coffee splashed on my jeans with the velocity of it but neither of us paid any particular attention to it. He peered up at me from where he was still lying on his front.

"That's ego-crushing but still cool," he informed me eventually. "It's nice that you didn't say that you don't like labels. That annoys me so much. Like, fuck! You're bi! Just shut up and say it. Ain't a bad thing, you special, pretentious fuck. Labels are what, like, let you know shit. Like, if a, like, carton of milk didn't have a label on it, lactose-intolerant people wouldn't like, not die."

"Milk cartons don't have labels on them, man, the whole thing's one big label," I said pedantically.

"Woah," he whispered, "I'm kinda drunk. Can I kiss you again, Frank?"

I almost physically jumped. "I don't know, Gerard," I answered timidly.

"Okay," he pushed himself up stretched his back like a cat on his hands and knees. "Stay over, though, won't you? Mikey and I had a fight earlier 'cause I accidentally scratched one of his Buffy DVDs. I told him he could watch the episode online but he has this thing about watching things on DVDs, I dunno. Anyway, he went to one of his friend's for the night. I have spare pyjamas, by the way."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEY LOL
> 
> like frank, i also cracked my head open when i was four after falling off a wobbly stool and am bisexual as FUCK
> 
> bt dubbs sorry for not uploading for like. a year. im a piece of shit ! i also hav mock exams starting in a few days, wish me luck lmao


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